His Little Girl
by Wannabe Detective M
Summary: One day, John finds out that Sherlock became a sperm donor...which would explain why there was a baby girl on the doorstep of the flat! Sherlock needs to find the mother of the child and fix the predicament once and for all. But that will not be so easy once he finds out why she gave the baby up... Rated T for some gore and adult talk, just to be safe! Parent!lock
1. Chapter 1

**One week earlier...**

"So Sherlock," John began a conversation with the detective. "Have you ever had sex? Or is the virgin thing really true?"

"I have not had sex," Sherlock replied. "I'm not that kind of man. But, of course, I never put any sperm to waste..."

"So...oh no. Don't tell me you've done experiments on your own-"

"No, John! Don't be stupid! I just became a sperm donor. God, John! That's disgusting of you to think I did experiments on sperm..."

"Oh. A sperm donor? So, that would mean, that you might have children somewhere...? Is that what I'm hearing?"

"Possibly, but I never really cared about that."

"Never cared? Sherlock, you might have a child somewhere. You never know! That would be pretty interesting."

"In case you haven't noticed, there's only so little of a chance that a woman gets pregnant using my sperm. Even if she did, she wouldn't necessarily care who the hell the father was, would she?"

"So you're just going to let it go then?"

"An another thing, I...really don't like children. I don't think I'd be able to carry on the responsibility of being a father. I'm not that kind of man."

"That's too bad. Then again, you're practically a child yourself. Having a child raise a child would be hard business."

"Shut up, John."

John smirked as he kept typing on his blog, and Sherlock went back to an experiment he was working on (that didn't involve sperm, apparently). John reflected on the conversation that they had; he didn't know why on earth he would ever bring it up, maybe because he was curious about Sherlock and his life. He didn't know much about the detective and his personal life, more so about his personality. All he really know about Sherlock was that he had a brother and a mother (no mention of a father), and that he used to have an addiction to smoking. That was it. He wasn't even sure of Sherlock's birthday (it was something around early January).

A normal man, like John, would want a family, to raise a couple kids and live a simple life. But Sherlock wasn't simple; he preferred to be alone, dedicated to science and crime scenes rather than to people. John knew that wasn't entirely true, and that Sherlock did care about the few friends he actually had, although the bloke would never admit it himself. In John's mind, Sherlock would make an...interesting father.

**Present Day...**

"Boys!"

Mrs. Hudson's voice chimed early in the morning, right as John was going to leave for the store. Sherlock was up early, as usual, writing down the statistics from last night's experiment.

The detective's head shot up as he heard Mrs. Hudson from downstairs. He and John went down to see what was the matter, because the land lady's voice sounded distressed. Once they came downstairs, Mrs. Hudson looked at them with a look of worry.

"You might want to see this," she said, motioning towards the door. "I was going to sweep off the dust from the step there, but then I noticed this..."

Sherlock and John looked where Mrs. Hudson showed them, and there, sitting on the porch, was a basket, cushioned with a pink pillow, carrying a small baby.

"Oh no," Sherlock murmured under his breath...


	2. Chapter 2

"Well," Mrs. Hudson turned to the boys, "whose is it?"

John looked at Sherlock, whose face was flushed. He knew it was his; there was no other explanation. But...how? Sherlock tried to wrap his mind around the fact that he had a child, but for some reason, the shock overwhelmed his subconscious, and he found himself walking up the stairs and sitting on the couch, still in shock. He feared he was having a panic attack!

_Okay_, Sherlock thought. _Breathe...just breathe. Maybe it's a misunderstanding... Oh God! I've deduced it too well! There's no way it isn't mine! Focus, Holmes. Take out the impossible, and whatever remains has to be true...however improbable. Gah! This is so improbable, but it has to be true!_

John came up the stairs after him.

"The bloody hell, Sherlock?" he practically snapped. "Is the child yours or not? Are you listening to me, Sherlock? If you're telling me that your sperm-donating idea backfired and you ended up with the child-"

"Of _course_ it's mine!" Sherlock snapped, turning towards John quickly. "Of course it's mine! Dear God..."

John realized how badly this was affecting Sherlock; he was a man of science, never expecting and never wanting to ever become a father. Now, in front of him, was this child that could be no one else's but his. John went back downstairs to grab the basket at the doorstep and bring the baby upstairs.

Sherlock lifted his head when John laid the basket in front of him. John sat on the chair across from him and watched to see what Sherlock would do.

Sherlock stared at the basket in front of him, at the baby silently sleeping inside of it. The baby was rather small, only a month or two old, practically a newborn child. Judging by the pink blanket and the pink pillow in the basket, the baby was a girl. That's when he noticed the note, under the wrapped-up baby's back. Sherlock slowly pulled out the paper, and unfolded it. It was the little girl's birth certificate.

There was no name for the little girl, but all the other information was placed on there:

**Date of Birth: August 12th  
Hair color: black  
Eye color: blue-grey  
Mother: Violet Burke  
Father: Sherlock Holmes**

Seeing his name printed on a birth certificate made Sherlock uneasy. He flipped over the certificate to find something written on the back of it:

_Forgive me, I had no choice. If I didn't give her to you, her life would be in danger. I'm doing this because I care about her._

_Be good to her.  
- Violet_

"Violet..." Sherlock repeated the name aloud.

John looked at Sherlock curiously. Sherlock noticed this and handed his companion the note. John read it, then looked at Sherlock, still confused.

"Who's Violet?" John asked.

"The mother, obviously," Sherlock replied. "Other than that, I don't know who she is or what her predicament is, why she had to give up this...little girl..."

Sherlock leaned over and stroked the baby's cheek with his thumb. With that little touch, the baby woke up with a soft coo, opening her soft blue-grey eyes. Sherlock's eyes widened a little, somewhat startled that he woke the baby.

The baby looked at Sherlock with her sweet, little face, but then her lips trembled, and she began to cry. Sherlock got up from the couch and looked at John, unsure of what to do. John had never seen that face on Sherlock, that look that just exclaimed, "Help me!"

"Pick her up!" John replied, thinking of solutions, being as naive about children as his companion was. Sherlock nodded and quickly picked the baby girl up from the basket and cradling her in his arms, shifting his weight from one side to the other, hushing the child.

"Please don't cry," he said quietly. "Hush. Don't cry..." The baby began to quiet down, and, after a while, stopped, still awake, but secure in her father's arms. Sherlock situated himself on the couch with her, and John sat there in amazement.

"Wow, Sherlock," said Mrs. Hudson, who had been standing there for quite some time, although none of them noticed, "you're a natural."

"I am _no_ such thing," Sherlock retorted. "I merely used basic methods that I had observed from others, and I somehow..."

"Wait," John said, "you observe those kinds of people?"

"I observe all kinds of people, John. Mothers, children, army doctors..." John smirked with Sherlock's comment.

"So," Mrs. Hudson said, "what's the little one called then?"

"There was no name on the note that Violet left," John responded. "I guess she never had time to name her or something. What do you suppose we name her, Mrs. Hudson?"

"Oh, I don't know. I think that would be up to Sherlock. What do you think, Sherlock?"

Sherlock looked back at the child in his arms. He took a long moment to decide the child's name as she stared back at him with her big, blue-grey eyes. He had heard that sometimes, one knows the name of a baby just by looking at it. Sherlock couldn't really see what kind of name would be fitting for this little girl. His little girl...

"I'll think about it," Sherlock finally replied, putting the baby back in the basket. "If you ever have any suggestions, let me know, you two."

John and Mrs. Hudson looked at each other, then nodded to Sherlock.


	3. Chapter 3

John left for work after that exciting moment he had with Sherlock and this new-found baby that they had. No, that he had; this was Sherlock's baby, but John had a good feeling he would have no choice but to help him out with this mess. No, not a mess. And you can't call it a mistake either...so what was it? It was a thing. He had to help Sherlock with this thing, this little girl- that was it! John was going to have to help Sherlock with this little girl.

Back at 221B, Mrs. Hudson was helping Sherlock out with the baby stuff. Sherlock wasn't exactly sure how to be a father, but Mrs. Hudson has had her share of raising children; she had a son, Austin, who was currently in Australia.

"We don't have a bottle for her," Mrs. Hudson said. "So we might have to substitute with so else until John gets back. I should tell him about that later..."

"I have this," Sherlock replied, showing Mrs. Hudson a dropper that he had.

"Perfect!" Mrs. Hudson exclaimed. "Now, I'll prepare milk while you wash that off, dear."

"Alright." Sherlock went over to the kitchen sink to wash off the dropper, then looked over to Mrs. Hudson.

"What do you think, Mrs. Hudson?" he asked.

"About what, dear?" she replied.

"A name for the baby. Your thoughts?"

"I don't know, dear."

"What does she look like to you?"

"You."

Sherlock's heart went up into his throat with that comment.

"Perhaps she'll get your intelligence, too," Mrs. Hudson added.

"It's a good chance. After all, she is..." Sherlock had a hard time admitting that this child before him was actually his daughter. He changed the subject. "Names! What about them. Any ideas?"

"I told you, I don't know."

Sherlock handed Mrs. Hudson the dropper, then went to his laptop, keeping an eye on the baby in the basket next to him. She would make little noises every now and then, which would cause Sherlock to glance at her. He took a liking to this little baby for some reason. Was it because she was his baby? Because he was her father? He didn't know. He never wanted to be a father. He was afraid...of being a terrible father, or being like his own father? Either way, he'd ruin the girl's life.

Sherlock began to look up this woman, Violet Burke. She was the baby's mother, might as well know who she was. Turns out that Violet Burke was a common name. Finding her wasn't going to be so easy. Sherlock narrowed down his search to find Violet Burke from England. Then he narrowed it down to London, England. Once he did that, there weren't so many Violet Burkes.

There were three who claimed to be located in the London area- two from the area, and one currently there. The woman currently living in London was who Sherlock thought was most likely the mother. So he decided to look at her records.

Violet Burke was unmarried, living in a small flat in London, a decent distance away from Baker Street. She acquired a large sum of money after her grandmother's passing, and spent a large portion of that money to...raise a baby.

Hold on. Not married, but wants a kid? Doesn't have a man to supply it, so she uses some of the money she attained from her deceased grandmother to have Sherlock's sperm to produce a daughter? What? This confused Sherlock for some time...until he found the pictures on Facebook.

Yes, this Violet Burke that he found was indeed the mother of the little girl. There were pictures on her Facebook page of her during her pregnancy. Violet Burke had light brown hair, almost blonde, and bright blue eyes. Freckles lied on top of her nose and under her eyes. She looked like she was in her late 20s, worked indoors, a writer, possibly for a newspaper.

Sherlock also noticed another woman in her photos, with strawberry-blond hair and green eyes, probably her roommate at her flat. She was tagged as Sandy Carlisle, and Sherlock finally understood what was going on.

Violet Burke was a lesbian.

There were many photos of Violet and Sandy, holding each other close, admiring Violet's bump, kissing...

"Ooh," Mrs. Hudson said from behind Sherlock. "Kinky."

"Mrs. Hudson!" Sherlock immediately shut the laptop. "I was doing research...for the girl's sake. And shouldn't you be preparing milk or something?"

"All done with that, dear," Mrs. Hudson replied, holding the dropper on her hand, now containing milk. "I trust that you'll be careful with her, Sherlock. She's a fragile little thing."

"All babies are fragile. It's common knowledge, Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock took the dropper from her hands and began to, or at least tried to, feed the baby. Awkwardly. He was kneeling on the level of the basket, waiting patiently for the child to open her mouth so he could squeeze out some milk, hoping she'd take it.

"I thought you said you knew how to do this," Mrs. Hudson said, hands on her hips. "You observe mothers all the time you said. I can't believe that you say that and then try to feed this baby like she's a Petri dish."

Sherlock gave Mrs. Hudson a look, then stood up.

"I'm not necessarily cut out for this," Sherlock said. "That is what I'm accustomed to, not..."

"Not what?"

"Not...being a father. I never wanted any of this to come on my shoulders! And I still don't."

"So you're saying you don't want this baby?"

"I...don't know anymore... A part of me says that I should give her back to the mother, let her take care of the baby with her lesbian girlfriend. But another part of me says to keep her, to raise her... Dammit, Mrs. Hudson! I don't know what I should do."

"I don't know either," Mrs. Hudson replied. "But, I know what you should be doing now: feeding your baby."

Sherlock sighed, sitting on the chair, taking the baby out of the basket and holding her in his arms like he did earlier. He tried to picture how a mother would do this, focusing on the images from his mind palace. He wondered why he didn't delete this information from his brain in the first place; did he find it useful? Now he surely did.

This was going to be difficult, substituting a dropper for a bottle. Still, the baby seemed to suck on it as Sherlock would squeeze the end of it and allow her to drink the milk.

"What did I tell you?" Mrs. Hudson said with some pride. "You're a natural."

"You think so?" Sherlock asked.

"Obviously."

"Obviously. Funny. You know as well as I do what kind of environment I lived in, but somehow I'm great at this. Why am I great?"

"I've known you to be rather cold," Mrs. Hudson said, "an rude, and arrogant and childish. But, unlike a lot of people, I saw some good in you. In my head, I could always imagine you being a father for some reason. Then again, I see almost every man being a father."

"That's nice, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock said.

"No matter what you choose, I still think you should at least be there for her in some aspect."

Be good to her, Violet had said. Sherlock didn't quite understand what "be good to her" meant necessarily. For some reason, he just hoped he could do a good job of being good.


	4. Chapter 4

It took a while, but after a few more feedings and long moments of crying, as well as a nappy-changing lesson, Sherlock somehow succeeded into getting his little girl to go to sleep. As he lied down on the couch, his face in a pillow, he began to think of several topics at once.

How would this affect his job? He would probably ask Mrs. Hudson to help him look after her; there was no way he was taking a baby to a crime scene. Ever.

What about Violet? He would most likely call her up and get some information out of her. Whatever predicament she'd gotten herself into that allowed her to have no choice but to give her baby to her sperm donor must've been pretty awful. He had to find out, but later, when John came home.

What would he name the baby? He didn't find a name on Facebook or the birth certificate. Had Violet been so careless as to not name her child? Now it was up to Sherlock to do everything for this child as long as he had her. It looked like he would be keeping her for good, which, now that Sherlock was tired out, seemed like a nice idea.

The baby girl was lying fast asleep inside her basket as evening came. Sherlock would watch her, lying on his stomach on the couch, over the basket. She was so sweet and sound, secure in the bustle of 221B. Outside, you could hear some sirens far off so many blocks away, but they didn't wake her.

Sherlock still tried to wrap his mind around the fact that she was his. He thought about running a paternity test back at Bart's, with Molly's help (Molly seems like she's the kind of girl who would enjoy the presence of a small baby).

After a few minutes of watching, the baby began to squirm, and she woke up slightly. Sherlock saw her lip quiver, and his first notion was to pick her up and hold her. Sherlock sat up and picked up the baby, then lied back down on the couch, allowing her to lie on his chest. He began to hush her, still a bit awkward about his predicament.

As he watched the baby fall back asleep on his chest, barely moving. Sherlock was really tired at that moment, but still awake enough to think. The only thing on his mind at the moment was the name... He tried to think through his mind palace for some familiar names that were useless and not sentimental. He couldn't just call it "baby" or "little girl." He fell asleep, baby on his chest, with the thought.

John came home a few minutes later, finding his good friend, sleeping with the baby on his chest. He almost burst into laughter; it was so unusual but sweet at the same time, and Sherlock wasn't like that. He didn't want to disturb the moment, so he took out his phone and took a photograph.

Sherlock's eyes shot open, then looked towards John, who quickly put his phone away so Sherlock wouldn't see.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked quietly.

"Nothing," John answered, shaking his head. Sherlock rolled his eyes, slowly sitting up, trying not to wake the baby.

"Where's Mrs. Hudson?" John asked. "Didn't see her downstairs."

"Out, probably," Sherlock replied. "Probably to get some baby things."

"Oh... You look tired." John smirked.

"Take the baby," Sherlock replied. "Hold her for me. You haven't held her yet, and I had her by myself almost all day. I think there should be a law or something preventing people from leaving inexperienced alone with children." John too, the little girl into his arms, sitting in the chair.

"Hard day?"

"Yes." Sherlock lied on his stomach again, his face buried in the pillow. John giggled a little bit.

"This is going to be almost every day for you, Sherlock. If you can't handle a few hours-"

"Oh, I can handle a few hours, John. But...days?"

"More like years, if you plan on raising her...whatever her name is. Did you decide that yet?"

"Uh...Ah! Yes! I did!"

"Shush! The baby, Sherlock..."

"Sorry. Well, I had a name. What do you think of...Beatrice?"

"Nice. I like it."

"I thought it was a good name, too."

"So, Beatrice it is, then? Beatrice...Bee for short, right?"

"Yes. Beatrice Violet Holmes."

"That's...brilliant, Sherlock. Lovely name."

So it was settled. Her name was Beatrice Violet Holmes.


	5. Chapter 5

The next day, Sherlock took some time to do more research on Violet Burke. He had asked Detective Inspector Lestrade the night before to try to find some records on her. His first intent was to find out about her himself, but John had sent that photo to Mrs. Hudson, Molly, and Lestrade, which raised questions.

"Is she yours?" Lestrade asked on the phone. "You never seemed like the type to be raising a kid."

"I thought the same thing," Sherlock replied, "but being a sperm donor has its disadvantages."

"That too. Didn't think you were into that."

"Well, I needed to find something useful and productive for my sperm to... Can we drop the subject of sperm for a second? As long as I have you on, I need to ask a favor of you."

"What's that? Anything but babysitting. You know I can't. Too busy. Not my division, if you know what I mean."

"No, that's not it. I wanted to ask if you could look up a certain woman."

"Name?"

"Violet Burke. That's B-U-R-K-E."

"She the mum?"

"Yeah. I just need you to look through some records, try to find out where she lives, why she could be endangering her life as well as the lives of others."

"What? Why would you think that, Sherlock?"

"Why do you think she gave me the baby?"

"Right. That makes some sense. Alright, I'll look into it for you."

"Thank you."

"But one more thing, Sherlock, before I go, I'm curious. What did you name the girl again?"

"Beatrice. Why?"

"Cute. Alright, I'll look into those files later for you. See you."

Just from Lestrade's conversation, the tone he used when he spoke, told Sherlock that night that Lestrade was expecting to see a change in Sherlock. If anything, the little girl, no matter how much he would care for her, would drive him up the wall with her simple mind and her constant need for everything. Was that what children were like? Sherlock swore he would never let Beatrice become a spoiled brat like he was.

The next morning, Sherlock found John feeding Beatrice with a bottle (Mrs. Hudson must've bought one at the store). John noticed Sherlock and smiled.

"Get some sleep?" John asked. Sherlock nodded. It was obvious that John was making up for yesterday, when he basically left Sherlock and Mrs. Hudson alone with the baby. Plus, he wanted to let Sherlock sleep for a moment; he hardly slept anyway and the first days with the baby would be the hardest.

As Sherlock looked at John with the baby, he could see it: John looked exactly like a father. In Sherlock's opinion, John looked more like a father than he did. He wasn't jealous; he just felt bad for himself because he knew that John could be a better father. So, he was jealous.

"How is she?" Sherlock asked.

"She's doing good," John replied.

"Doing well, John."

"Right."

After a while, John finished feeding Beatrice and put her to sleep again.

"She was awake at four this morning," John said. "I woke up so you wouldn't have to. I hope you don't mind..."

"Not at all," Sherlock replied.

"So, Violet Burke...any more information on her? Other than she's a lesbian?"

"Where'd you hear that?"

"I didn't hear, I saw. You left the page up on my laptop."

"Oh. Right. Nothing is necessarily proven at the moment of why she chose to give up her child-"

"Your child, Sherlock."

"Whatever. She gave up the child for a reason. I don't know why. She isn't very specific, not even on her social networking sites. No wonder she's failing as a writer."

"Do you think it has something to do with financial matters?"

"No. She just earned a large amount of money from her deceased grandmother. She spent almost a quarter of it on conceiving this girl. That means she still has a large sum of this money left. Financial issues are not a problem-"

Sherlock immediately had an idea. His jaw gaped, eyes wide, and he got excited.

"What am I saying?" Sherlock said. "Maybe someone else wanted this money. Maybe they would hold her for ransom. Maybe she was trying to hide it from a criminal! John, this might turn into an actual case."

"Okay, Sherlock," John said, "let's calm down and think for a minute. What if she's not being held for ransom. What then?"

"Good question. What if she isn't? Then there would be several explanations. But you have to think, John. Take out the impossible and whatever remains, however improbable, has to be true. Financial issues? Impossible. She just decided to give up the baby simply because she didn't want it? Given the note and the photos, that is impossible."

"So you think the ransom is possible?" John asked.

"It could be," Sherlock answered, "unless you have another explanation. It was obvious that she loved her daughter, and she reluctantly gave her to me, possibly as a last resort. She's a lesbian. If anything, she's heard of me and knows better than to come to me as a first resort, probably knowing I want nothing to do with a child!"

Sherlock looked at John, who gave him a face of disappointment; he didn't realize what he just said. He basically said he didn't want anything to do with little Beatrice. There was a pause.

"Not good?" Sherlock asked.

"Not good at all," John replied. "You can't just say that! That's...not human. That's awful of you to say. I cannot believe you-"

"At the time!" Sherlock interrupted. "At the time, I wanted nothing to do with Beatrice, but now... You spend one day with someone and you feel like you've spent a lifetime. You know what I mean?"

"Yeah." It reminded John of when he and Sherlock first met, how they went on a crazy case to catch a cabbie serial killer, running the streets after a cab, shooting a man to save Sherlock from taking the pill. He, too, felt like he knew Sherlock for years after one night.

"John," Sherlock continued, "I didn't mean it that way."

"Yeah," John replied, "but still, it's pretty cruel."

"Which is why I didn't say it in the first place. I thought it, but didn't say it."

"Why not?"

"I was in shock. I could've used a blanket then..."

Suddenly, Sherlock's phone rang. It startled the two of them, mostly because loud noises would wake the baby.

Sherlock quickly answered the phone. It was Lestrade.

"Hey, Sherlock," Lestrade said, "I got a file on Violet Burke."

"Did you get the right one?" Sherlock asked. "There are three who live near London alone."

"Yeah, this has to be her. Sandy-blonde hair, blue eyes, just had a baby."

"That's her. What do you have for me?"

"You're going to have to come down to the station to see. Can you do that, or...?"

"Of course. I can just have Mrs. Hudson or someone watch Beatrice while I'm away. She's asleep right now. It won't take long?"

"Maybe a while, depending on how well you deduce it. Won't take too long, I suppose. So how bout it?"

"Why do I have to come?"

"You might want to see what she has on her records. It's pretty interesting..."


	6. Chapter 6

Sherlock went down to the station, joined by John, entrusting Mrs. Hudson with Beatrice for a little while. Lestrade was in his office with a cup of coffee.

"Well," Lestrade said when the two entered the room, "big day yesterday, huh?"

"Shut up," Sherlock mumbled. Lestrade just smiled, then became serious. John and Sherlock sat in the chairs in front of Lestrade's desk.

"Alright, now, about this Violet Burke. You're interested because she's the mum, right?"

"There's more to that. She gave up the child for a reason. There's no way she would ever want to give up her baby, especially if she was to give the baby to me. I just wanted to know if she had any reason why."

"Well, you might be interested in what this has to say... September 24th, a woman by the name of Violet Burke went missing."

Sherlock froze. This was not what he was expecting to hear.

"What?" John responded. "That's impossible. She couldn't have just gone missing."

"But she did," Lestrade continued. "Her roommate reported her missing, saying she ran away. She called for one reason: Violet just had a baby, and her roommate didn't want to leave it abandoned."

"Ran away?"

"Ran away. We tried to contact her roommate, Sandy Carlisle. She responded once, but said that she rather not talk of Violet's disappearance. She wasn't any help to us, didn't tell us any information we could count as useful or that we didn't know."

Sherlock sat there in silence. John would look at him from time to time as Lestrade filled them with all the details of Violet Burke's disappearance. John assumed that her disappearance made Sherlock upset; he just found out he had a child, then he finds out that the mother is missing. It was like she wouldn't take no for an answer and wanted Sherlock to be the father of his little girl.

Afterward, when they were given the information, the two took a cab back to the flat. Lestrade had given them the file on Violet Burke, complete with important addresses and phone numbers.

"Anything wrong?" John finally asked.

"I think there is," Sherlock replied. "Something is very, very wrong. I'm going to need to look into this, John-"

"Oh, no. You are not leaving the baby with Mrs. Hudson again. I have work tomorrow, and you're her father, so I think you should take some responsibility."

"I never said I was going to leave her. In fact, she's a part of it, so I'm going to need her. I'll stay at the flat, John. Don't worry about it."

"Good. So you're just going to stay home and look at files? Is that it?"

"No, John. I think I might have someone over..."

**Author's Note: Hello! It's me! I am so glad right now, because I am receiving tremendous feedback on this fan fiction! It's my first fan fic, so thank you all so much for following me, following the fic, and writing reviews! **

**I will be writing other fan fics soon, so if you like this one, be sure to read the other ones I will write in the future. Once again, thank you for all the love and support! I will write soon! **


	7. Chapter 7

The next day marked the third day with Beatrice. Sherlock asked Mrs. Hudson to stay that day, but only help when he absolutely needed it (which wasn't so hard after observing her and her techniques for three days).

Sherlock was an awkward father. He wasn't into the whole "baby talk" thing or into teaching his daughter tedious nursery rhymes and simple songs. All boring; Sherlock would be driven up the wall with all the mediocre crap. He did tolerate, however, a white stuffed bunny that Mrs. Hudson got for her. It was simple, white, and soft, and Beatrice enjoyed putting its ears in her mouth. God, she was adorable.

This morning, she was lying down on the bed with Sherlock, grabbing onto his fingers with her small, chubby fist. He spoke to her in low tones, but in the usual sentence fluency and grammar he usually used. And, for the first time since she came to the flat, she smiled for him.

Sherlock's eyebrows raised when she smiled. Beatrice was sweet and innocent; if Sherlock raised her, she would soon become a bright, intellectual, witty young woman.

He remembered once he heard Mrs. Hudson talking about her son, Austin, with Mrs. Turner.

_"They grow up so fast," she had said. "Now he's all grown up and living on his own. Sometimes I wish he was still small like he was when we first brought him home."_

_"How old is your son now?" Mrs. Turner had asked._

_"Around Sherlock's age. They went to the same school, yet they were never friends like I was with his mother."_

_"So you knew Sherlock as a child?"_

_"Of course, although he hates to admit it. He always tells people the story of how he ensured my husband's death."_

Suddenly, Sherlock heard the doorbell ring. He knew (or at least hoped he knew) who was arriving today. He had sent an email to her, saying:

_There are many things I wish to discuss with you. Meet me at 221B Baker Street at 11:30am. I have Violet's daughter, in case you wanted to see her._

_SH_

Mrs. Hudson led the woman upstairs. She had her strawberry-blonde hair up in a ponytail, wearing a business suit with a blazer and skirt. She was a very professional-looking woman, sitting down with her legs crossed, waiting patiently for the man who invited her here.

Sherlock walked out of his bedroom, Beatrice on one arm. The woman looked up at the both of them with content.

"So," the woman said, "you did keep her, not leaving her on the street."

"Did you think I would, Ms. Carlisle?" Sherlock asked.

"I had a feeling. And please, call me Sandy."

"Right then." Sherlock sat on the chair, placing Beatrice in her little basket that Violet had left her in. He looked at Sandy, and began to observe her: manager at a large business; used to be in a lot of stress, but not anymore; bisexual; drinks coffee; used to smoke; on a diet; runs in the morning; can be aggressive...

"So you called me here for a reason?" Sandy asked. "I understand that you're the father of Violet's child, and if this is about where she went, then I don't know. I'm just glad you took care of the baby."

"You have some idea," Sherlock replied, "about what happened to her. Judging by what I deduced, it seems like you might have driven her away."

"Excuse me? I didn't drive her away!"

"Then why did she disappear? Because I have a reason to believe that you were irritable. Trying to quit cold turkey is hard; I know from experience. You became not only irritable, but aggressive. After she had the baby, it got worse, because you were asked to participate and be responsible. Stressed and irritable, not a great combination, Ms. Carlisle. So why don't you tell me why she ran away?"

Sandy was frozen. She dare not speak or move, and Sherlock recognized that look she had on her face, the look of defeat. Sherlock gave Sandy a grin. Then, she finally sighed, ready to speak.

"You're right," she said, "I was irritable and stressed. But no way did I physically hurt Violet or her baby, I swear!"

"I believe you on that," Sherlock replied. "I'm not infallible, I just made an assumption. Continue."

"Violet was a sweet, innocent woman, and I would kill myself before I beat her. We met two years ago, when I saw her singing in a cafe in Whitechapel. But, after about three months of knowing her, she came down with some cancer in her throat. I paid for the procedure to take place, to remove the cancer, but she could never speak or sing ever again.

"After her grandmother died, she was given a large amount of money. I told her to save it for something she really wanted. About twelve months ago, Violet made the decision to raise a baby with me. I didn't really like the idea, and I still don't think it was one of the wisest decisions. I hate kids, but Violet had to be so selfish and stubborn, so she did so, whether I liked it or not. She took me to the hospital to have it done, though. I still can't believe she chose you to be the father.

"After having the baby, I found out from her doctor that she was getting really sick. They said she only had so long to live, they didn't tell me specifically how long. They told me this a month ago, right before she ran away. The next day, she was gone."

"Explain the note."

"It was a note for you, of course. I wrote it, though. I can't take care of a baby. I'm too busy, and I hate kids."

"And what makes you think I'm any better?"

"I don't know! I panicked. I kept the baby for a month, and I couldn't take it! I had to find you, because I thought you would be better than me!"

"You would have been better than I could ever be."

"No! No I couldn't! Don't you dare put that on my shoulders!"

"Do you even care about Violet?"

"Of course I care! I've been trying to locate her for the past month! She's dying, Sherlock, or maybe already dead! You barely know who the hell she is! I've heard a lot about you, Sherlock Holmes, and I'm really curious as to why you think you care so much about a woman you don't even know!"

Sandy was practically shouting at Sherlock, as was he to her. The argument made the baby get upset and begin to cry. Suddenly, the argument stopped. The two looked over at the baby, and Sherlock was the first to take action. He picked up the baby, held her against his chest, and tried to hush her. Sandy just stood there in her guilt as Sherlock tried to calm the baby.

"Please don't cry," Sherlock murmured to Beatrice. "It's going to be alright. I'm sorry."

After about a minute of continuous bawling, Sherlock became concerned (murmuring to the baby, "Please shut up already. Daddy has work to do!"), but she finally calmed down. He continued to hold her throughout the rest of his session with Sandy.

"Mr. Holmes," Sandy said, "I think it would be best if you help me find Violet. She only has so long to live-"

"I have been informed that the Scotland Yard has begun a search for her."

"She's been gone for a month. Who knows where she could be?"

"I don't know."

"I think we're done here, Mr. Holmes." Sandy grabbed her bag and began to head towards the stairs. But then she stopped to turn around, looking longingly at Sherlock and his daughter.

"You see that?" she said. "I could never do that. I was never able to make Violet's baby feel secure like you do. She really likes you... What do you call her, anyway? Violet never had the chance to give her a name, or at least she didn't tell me the name."

"Beatrice."

"Odd name for this century. Then again, your name is Sherlock. I guess I shouldn't judge too harshly... It's a beautiful name. Violet would've chosen something like that, too.

"That's the only reason I'm letting you handle the baby, Sherlock, for Violet. In my opinion, I would never trust the likes of you to take care of the child, or any child for that matter."

And with that, Sandy Carlisle left the flat.


	8. Chapter 8

John came home late that day, to find Sherlock and Beatrice having a staring contest. He wasn't talking to her, just staring, with a long, almost nostalgic stare, blinking only once or twice, sitting still on the chair. After about two minutes he sunk his head low with a long sigh.

"I can't do this," he murmured. "I just...can't. You deserve better than this...better than me."

"Sherlock?" John called. Sherlock's head shot up and looked towards John.

"When did you get here?" Sherlock asked.

"A couple minutes ago," John replied. "Something wrong?"

"I'm fine."

"You just said you 'can't do this.' Can't do what, Sherlock?"

"This, this 'baby' thing. You know me. I'm not that kind of man!"

"You've been doing great so far."

"It's only been a few days, John. So far, sure, I've been doing fine, but what will happen to her in the next couple of years? I don't know what I'm going to do..."

"Sherlock, are you afraid of something? Because if you-"

"I'm _not_ afraid, John! I don't get scared."

"Yes you do, and you know it. Seriously, Sherlock, you're doing just fine. I thought you thought so, too. What's bothering you?"

"_Nothing_ is bothering me, John! I'm alright!"

"Sherlock, be honest."

"Alright. It's...complicated."

"Complicated? What do you mean?"

"I just don't...want to..."

"Be a bad father? Sherlock, I already told you that you're doing just fine. What could possibly happen?"

"I could treat her the way _my_ father did to me!"

There was a long pause. Sherlock had never mentioned his father once. Now that he did, however, John could see why.

"He was," Sherlock continued, "always busy and always neglectful towards me, and as a young child, it hurt. He was strict and unreasonable..."

"Is that all?" John asked. "You've got to be kidding. Sherlock, I know you to be dedicated to the things you're truly passionate about. You're just new at this. It's going to be okay-"

"You know nothing!" Sherlock hissed, startling the baby. Sherlock looked back towards her, and when she stayed silent, he continued to speak.

"You don't know _anything_ about raising children, John. How could you possibly understand what I am dealing with?"

"Sherlock," John replied, "I never said I understood what you were going through. I just know these things; it's common knowledge. Then again you choose to forget a lot of things that are considered common knowledge."

Sherlock looked at John longingly, then curled up in a fetal position, head tucked in, arms around his knees. _Had he finally broken down?_ John thought. It had only been three days, and it seemed like Sherlock couldn't take any of the nonsense anymore; he wasn't used to this, everything was almost new to him. John had to remember that Sherlock never wanted any of this to happen, which John thought was sad, since the baby was beautiful and would most likely be intelligent like her father.

Not too little over a week ago, John had said that the idea of Sherlock being a father was almost ludicrous, saying that it would be hard for "a child to raise a child." Now, it seemed like Sherlock would make an...interesting father. Not the best father, but most certainly an interesting one.

"Dammit, Sherlock," John mumbled as he pat his companion's back, "you'll be alright."

"How do you know?" Sherlock asked.

"Because you're great at almost everything, so I know you'll be great at this."

"I know..." John chuckled at Sherlock's remark, heading back to the kitchen.

"You want some tea, then, Sherlock?" John asked. Sherlock nodded his head, standing up and heading towards his music stand, picking up his violin and beginning to play a number of concertos.

Sherlock had done this beforehand, played the violin for his child. She enjoyed it, since her mother was also most likely a musician with her singing background. As Sherlock played, he began to wonder what would become of Violet Burke; she was apparently dying, possibly already dead. Even if she lived, she would never be able to take care of her child. He also wondered if her sickness was hereditary...

...

About a week later, there was a phone call. Sherlock was in his bed, not asleep, and it was almost six in the morning, thinking about a case he just solved, where it was obvious that the husband killed his wife's brother. When Sherlock picked up the phone, it was Lestrade.

"Do you have a case for me?" Sherlock asked.

"Not this time," Lestrade replied. "We found her."

Sherlock sat up in bed, eyes wide, full of interest. He looked over to the crib (new crib, which he and John had assembled themselves after taking an hour to try to figure out how to do so), where Beatrice was possibly asleep or silently awake. He got up from his bed and looked inside, to find his daughter asleep. He grinned.

"Are you sure?" Sherlock asked.

"I'm positive," Lestrade answered. "We found Violet Burke, I'm sure of it."


	9. Chapter 9

Later that day, Sherlock showed up at Bart's with Beatrice, where Leatrade was waiting for him.

"Brought the baby this time?" Lestrade asked. "She's cute!"

"Shut up, Lestrade," Sherlock replied, "that's not the matter. You said to meet you here because you found Violet."

"Yeah. We found her alright. She is hopelessly ill, though, lying in the hospital right now. We found her in a motel, when we were called by the owner to investigate an unconscious woman who couldn't speak. The doctor says that she might live, but she will never be healthy enough to raise her child."

"I assumed as much."

"And that's why...?"

"Obviously. Beatrice is her daughter too, isn't she? I think she should see her."

"She's changing you, Sherlock."

"Who? Violet? Beatrice?"

"Yeah. I can see it, you're getting nicer."

"Shut up."

"Alright then. You wanna go see Violet or what?" Sherlock nodded, and the two men (with the baby) walked into the hospital.

The past week with Beatrice, trying his best to be a father, all led up to this moment. Ever since day one, Sherlock wanted answers.

Where was her mother? Now, in the hospital. Why did she leave? To escape, knowing she only had so long to live.

Now only one question remained: What will become of Beatrice now? Would someone else raise her, or would the responsibility go to Sherlock for good?

Lestrade let Sherlock go into the hospital room alone. Holding Beatrice in his arm, he opened the door to Violet's room. There, lying on the bed, eyes open, was Violet Burke. She looked so emaciated, not like she did in her photos on Facebook, but still beautiful. Her hair was damp, and her eyes were as beautiful as Sherlock had seen.

When Violet saw Sherlock walk into the room, shutting the door behind him, her eyes widened; she recognized him, and she recognized her baby. As Sherlock faced her, she gave him a light smile, then he walked over to her and sat by her bedside. Violet held out her thin arms, wanting to hold her baby again. Sherlock handed Beatrice to her, and she held and caressed the little girl.

Beatrice was calm around her mother; she would grab her fingers and smile when she did. Violet gently kissed her baby's soft head, and held her close as Beatrice began to fall asleep in her arms.

"She's had a long week," Sherlock said in a quiet voice. Violet turned to him and nodded. Sherlock remembered that she couldn't speak, which made him upset, because he would've loved to hear her talk, get some answers.

"Violet," Sherlock continued, "I'm so sorry. This never...should've happened. Any of this, really. You should've never left, and I should've never..." Violet placed a hand on Sherlock's cheek, giving him a sympathetic smile. It reminded Sherlock of what John had said a while back, how he was doing a great job and all that tedious babble.

"But, why me?" Sherlock asked. Violet pointed to Sherlock's head (his intelligence), then to his face (good looks), then to his heart. His heart? Sherlock was an antisocial sociopath, stubborn and a bit different. Why would she say that? After a little thinking, Sherlock realized what she meant: not his personality, his health (still pretty bad, but compared to Violet's, it was normal). Violet knew that she was having trouble with her health, so she needed to do something about it, so her baby would be healthy.

Everything began to fall into place at that very moment. Violet knew she was most likely dying, all this time. If anything, she wanted tone a mother before she died. That's why she went through with having Sherlock's baby. She ended up running away because she was so sick that she couldn't take it anymore, the stress, the arguments with Sandy.

"I'm so sorry," Sherlock murmured. Violet simply put her head back on her pillow as she held her baby close to her chest.

"Oh," Sherlock added, "by the way, I realized that she didn't have a name. I have been calling her Beatrice."

Violet smiled and nodded, agreeing that it was a lovely name, then looked back to the baby, now fast asleep. Then she gently handed Beatrice back to Sherlock, who took his child. Sherlock realized what Violet was doing. She didn't need words to tell him so:

I can't take care of her anymore. I think it would be best if you did. Please, do this for me. Be good to her.

_Be good to her._

Sherlock could see that she was about to burst into tears. He put the baby in her lap again. Sherlock really hated being sentimental, but how could he not be to this woman, practically on her last legs, the mother of his child?

"Don't cry," Sherlock said. "She'll be fine. I know she will. She lasted a week with me. Please, don't cry, Violet." Violet looked at Sherlock, tears streaming down her cheeks. She quickly wrapped her skinny arms around his neck. Sherlock was startled by her sudden embrace, but, for some reason, accepted it.

Lestrade was right; at this moment, Sherlock finally realized that he was changing, becoming nicer. No. Sherlock didn't want that. He didn't want to change. He wanted to stay the same, solving crimes, being cruel and witty. That was the way he was, and nobody could ever change that...

And yet, so many people did change that. John, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade, and now Beatrice and Violet. Damn it all!

When Violet let go of Sherlock, he immediately picked up the baby and began to leave. Violet became concerned, so Sherlock turned back to look at her.

"I'm just not that kind of man," Sherlock said. "I'm not sentimental...like that. I'm sorry. But I can promise you that your daughter will be in good hands. Don't worry, Violet. I will be good to her."


	10. Chapter 10

A diagnosis on Violet Burke came the next day; she would live, but she would be too weak to take care of Beatrice. Sherlock received the news that morning, not affected, feeling it obvious. Still, he wasn't sure what to make of it. He always thought he was one step ahead of everything, but now he didn't know what to do.

He would never get the real story on Violet Burke, why she truly ran away; he would never see Violet again, which he didn't mind that much; Beatrice would never see Violet ever again, which he did mind. She would be hospitalized for the rest of her life, which was only to be a couple of years, maybe a decade if she was lucky.

There was no case that day, which John thought would make Sherlock irritable, but John couldn't find him that morning. He looked around the flat in the usual places- the kitchen, the window, the couch- and couldn't fine his detective anywhere. That was, until, he heard the baby in his bedroom.

John walked into the bedroom to find Sherlock lying on his bed, Beatrice on his chest, patting his face with her chubby baby hands.

"She was up all night," Sherlock said, not even turning his head.

"Like her dad?" John asked, grinning. Sherlock rolled his eyes. John chuckled as he walked over and sat on the edge of the bed wi the two.

"So," John continued, "what are we going to do then, Sherlock? Have you decided what was going to happen?"

"According to the birth certificate," Sherlock replied, "I am legally supposed to be her father. I don't really think I have a choice, do I? Besides, you or Mrs. Hudson would've talked me out of giving her a different home, am I right?"

John smiled. "I'll leave you two alone then."

"John? Before you go, I have a question. Have I changed to you?"

"Sherlock, that depends when."

"I don't understand."

"Because I think that you're quite cruel and not sentimental, but ever since I met you, you seemed to get nicer over time."

"Oh."

"Oh! You meant with Beatrice! Oh yeah, you've changed just a little bit, but not much. Is that what you want to hear?"

"Yes, that's all." Sherlock lifted his hand to his daughter's level as she grabbed onto his finger. John smiled at them as he left the room, shutting the door.

Beatrice giggled when her father would smile at her. She patted his nose with her tiny hand, and she made him laugh a little. After a while, she began to look tired, yawning. Sherlock let her rest on his chest as she fell asleep. Sherlock stroked the little girl's back.

Over two weeks ago, he would've never imagined being a father. Sherlock would want nothing to do with children. But now, he had a daughter, and it turned his world around for good.

"Don't worry," Sherlock murmured, kissing Beatrice's small head, "I'll be good to you. I promise."

And so, Sherlock Holmes became a father to Beatrice Violet Holmes. She was his daughter.

_His_ little girl.

The end.

* * *

**Author's Note: well, it has finally reached its end. Yes, the story is finished. But it won't be the last you see of Sherlock and Beatrice. I will be writing more Sherlock Fics as well as another story about Sherlock and his little girl. **

**I'd like to take the time now to thank you all for the tremendous feedback and appreciation. This is my first Fanfiction and I was very glad that so many people enjoyed my writing. Thank you guys a ton! I will be writing many fan fictions soon, so be prepared! And don't hesitate to come back and read this one If you loved it. **

**-Detective M.**


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